


Two out of three ain't bad.

by rosmarine



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: College, Fixing stuff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosmarine/pseuds/rosmarine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nurse publishes gay poetry in the school's literary magazine, and Dex has a meltdown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two out of three ain't bad.

**Author's Note:**

> a bajillion thanks to [honey aster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_aster/pseuds/honey_aster) for beta-ing  
> also disclaimer: these characters belong to ngozi, and also i know nothing about the anatomy of ping pong tables

Dex’s hand tremble, and he reminds himself that the school library is no place for a meltdown.

_ A meltdown over what?  _ Asks a small part of his brain, the same part that narrows his focus to a pinpoint, usually when he has a project to finish or a paper to write or a goal to meet.

In his hands, Dex holds a glossy magazine. The cover pictures a stone bridge, one that Dex has to cross at least twice a day to get to his American History course, blurred by a bluish fog. It’s called  _ Vision _ , a poetry magazine published bi-monthly by the Samwell student body.

And glaring up at Dex is a poem entitled  _ Homosexual _ , written by Derek Malik Nurse. Dex’s best friend.

The voice in Dex’s head reading the poem sounds suspiciously like Nursey.

#

It doesn’t haunt Dex when he and Nursey sit next to each other the next morning at breakfast.

“Pass the salt,” says Nursey, bits of scrambled egg spewing from behind his ridiculously white teeth. A piece lands on Dex’s cheek and his blood boils.

“Not if you aren’t gonna keep your food in your own goddamn mouth,” says Dex, flicking it away. He watches as Nurse chugs his chocolate milk like it’s a glass of tub juice at a kegster. Nursey’s throat convulses, his adam's apple bobbing up and down, and -  _ okay _ . Dex’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, dry as the sand on the Jersey shore. This may or may not be the reason Dex avoids Nursey patrol. God - Dex doesn’t need his surprisingly omniscient kid sister to tell him that’s a trainwreck waiting to happen.

#

Dex’s feet travel the dirt path that leads to the pond. 

During Dex’s first tour of Samwell, his tour guide had shared a legend. If a couple walks around the lake and the surface doesn’t ripple, it serves as a good omen for the relationship. Dex had lagged behind the tour guide, a senior with shaggy blonde hair and a big grin, to skip a stone. 

Dex doesn’t have a book to read or a laptop to use, so he doesn’t plan on doing much other than sitting at the edge of the pond and brood. His gaze passes over the low hanging branches of the trees, halting on a hunched over figure. Light catches on a shock of blonde hair. 

Dex pads over. 

“Hey, Bits. What’s up?”

Bitty peers up, yanking out an earbud.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, “just thought I’d avoid wifi for a little. Try to get some work done.”

Dex nods, sinking to the ground beside Bitty. Beads of morning dew tickle his fingertips. Bitty dips his head, poring over his notes, and Dex really should just let him study. 

“So, uh, I need some advice,” says Dex, and he can feel his cheeks heating. People have  _ told _ him that his entire face goes pink easy.

Bitty glances up at him. He must see something, because he closes his notepad and places it in his backpack. 

“Shoot, boy,” says Bitty.

Dex grasps for words. That had been the extent of his entire plan. 

“I -” says Dex. “I want to date someone I already know. Like, really well. But I’m worried about messing up a good friendship. Or that he doesn’t want the same thing, and I’m kind of terrified of the explosion that would happen between us if things went bad, because they probably would! I mean, even if we do date, we’re either gonna break up or get married! Or one of us is gonna die, which is the most likely option.” At some point, Dex had started gesturing with his hands. He set them back down to his sides.

Bitty places a warm hand on Dex’s forearm. 

“Honey, don’t rush into anything. Trust me, I’ve been in your shoes a thousand and one times before. But sometimes you’ve gotta see which way the wind is blowing before you throw your caution.”

For a moment, Dex waits, expecting something to click. It doesn’t.

“What does that even mean?” he asks. 

Bitty narrows his eyes. “It means go ask Ransom and Holster.” He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “Go on - I promise I’ll make you something extra sweet back at the haus, but I really need to study.”

Dex scrambles to his feet. “Uhm, thanks, Bits. Sorry for the disturbance.”

“It’s okay. I’m a little irritable, and Ransom and Holster are a mighty ton better at this than I am.”

Dex walks away. He hears Bitty something about “D-men” and “always tripping all over each other”. 

A stray gust of wind picks up a maple leaf. It swirls around before hitting Dex directly in the face.

#

Holster pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “There’s only one way to answer your question.”

“Oh, no,” says Ransom, “We are  _ not _ getting out the ouija board.”

#

The ouija board tells Dex that he’s absolutely fucked

#

It’s been two days, and Dex feels he’s been doing surprisingly well.

He bounces the ping pong ball on the table. He raises a paddle. Nurse scratches absentmindedly across the scruff of his stubble. Dex loses his grip and flings the paddle straight into the net.

For all its disquiet, the haus is eerily empty during the day. Ransom and Holster are in the nap-zone, Bitty’s locked his bedroom door, and Chowder’s visiting his farm-girl. Dex feels like he’s stepped into an episode of the  _ Twilight Zone _ ; the house is a shell.

Dex’s heart isn’t in this ping pong match. He can’t shake the weird feeling constricting his chest. He swings his paddle, hitting the air several inches to the right of the ball.

“Bro, I think you’re better at this when you’re drunk,” says Nurse, balancing the ball on his nose. 

Dex’s eyebrows furrow.  _ Show-off _ .

“Yeah, well,” says Dex, “I am.” The ball makes a popping noise at it falls to the ground.

“That was weak, man, even for you,” says Nurse. “What’s your problem?”

Dex tightens his grip on his paddle. His fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm - he has to clip them later.

Dex  _ has _ a problem. His problem is that somewhere along the road, the words he associated with Nursey slowly melted from “jerkwad” into “unattainable”. He stopped refusing to room with Nurse on overnight games because his fear of Nursey suffocating him in his sleep ebbed away, like the flow of a retreating tide, leaving in its wake a spark of excitement for a night of booze and board games that Nursey always induced.

Dex can count the number of people he’s wanted to date in his entire life on one hand and still be able to hold a screwdriver. He’s a little picky, and he’s a lot busy, and most times he just doesn’t understand romance. It turned his sister into a robot and his brother into a mess.

And then there are times he wants to rip out his hair because he has to play the role of best friend (secret handshake - check), confidant (large ears - check), and shoulder to cry on (water absorbent - check). At the end of it all, it just feels too cruel to try to push something further.

Dex’s thoughts are knocked out when the ping pong ball collides with his forehead. 

He swats at it, letting out a yelp. Nursey laughs like a hyena and stumbles forwards.

_ Crack _ .

Dex jumps backwards, the table collapsing. Sprawled over the green plastic, his hand wrapped around the net, is Nursey.

“Whoops,” he says, like it’s a minor inconvenience that he just  _ wrecked the main source of entertainment for kegsters. _

“Way to go, you absolute klutz,” says Dex, offering Nursey a hand. He yanks Nursey up. He places a hand on Nursey’s shoulder, peering into his pupils.

“You okay?” asks Dex.

Nursey rubs a hand along his wrist. “Yeah. I think the only thing bruised is my pride.”

Dex lets out a huff. “What a tragedy. Hold up this end of the table.”

Nursey’s fingers wrap along the edge of the table, hoisting it up. Dex drops to a squat. He reaches into his jean pockets, extracting his phone and shining it’s flashlight on the underlying components of the fucking ping pong table. 

Nothing seems bent or permanently damaged, but the red rod that runs diagonally between the underside of the table and the leg flattened out, the bracket slipping the wrong way. Dex can fix it, easy peasy. 

Sometimes, when Dex works, his mind runs away from him. Just a little.

“You’re a poet,” he says, his tongue poking out from between his teeth. He’s stripped down to his undershirt, lying flat on his back underneath the table. 

“No shit, Sherlock,” he hears. The air conditioning kicks on, its rattle filling the basement.

“How can you stand sharing the most intimate part of yourself with the entire world?” asks Dex.

“Is this about that gay poem?” asks Nursey. “Because I swear, dude, if you aren’t cool with that, we’re not cool.”

Suddenly, Dex feels like he’s in a leaky submarine. 

“What?  _ No _ , Nurse. Come on, give me some credit. I’m not  _ that _ heartless.” Screw and bolts obscure his vision, but he can see Nursey’s bare feet peeking out from beneath his sweatpants.

“I just mean,” Dex continues, “aren’t there some parts of yourself you want to keep just for you, or reserve them for people who care enough to know you?”

Dex tugs at the brace experimentally. The leg wobbles. 

“I’m gonna need you to hold the leg up,” Dex says. He rolls onto his back, placing his palms flat on the underside of the table. Nurse drops beside him, his hand wrapping around the joint between the leg of the table and its underside. Dex feels every inch of the concrete pressing into his back. He shivers.

“I don’t even care, man, I’m not some library book,” says Nursey. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck.” His voice is muffled. “Besides, that isn’t even the most intimate thing I’ve ever written.”

Dex feels like he’s going to need a screwdriver. He fishes around in his pocket, his fingers tightening around a keyring with pocket sized tools. It was actually a birthday gift from Nursey that Dex had immediately christened when Ransom and Holster broke their fucking bed. 

Dex never asked. 

“Oh yeah,” says Dex, “Then why don’t you share some of it with a stranger like me?” He intends for it to be a challenge. The words sound pathetic in his ears.

“You’re no stranger,” says Nurse, and Dex doesn’t even have to turn his head to see the cocked eyebrow. “We shower together, like, twice a week.”

Dex’s face darkens. He’s painfully aware. 

“Are they love poems?” he asks. Immediately, he wants to take the words back, but they disappear like tendrils of smoke from a gun. Dex’s gut clenches, and he really doesn’t want to know the answer.

There’s the sound of metal rubbing against metal, and the rod pops back into place. 

Dex turns his head, and Nursey’s already staring at him. He’s got a smirk on his face, the kind that usually makes Dex want to punch a brick wall. Their faces are close enough that Dex can almost count each of Nursey’s eyelashes, stark against his lids. 

“No,” says Nursey, “but they could be.”

Nursey closes the gap, kissing Dex. Concrete bites into Dex’s cheek, so he rolls over, placing a hand on Nursey’s chest.

Okay, so maybe Dex has had a dream or two about stormy eyes. Maybe he’s had to shake away thoughts of stubble against his cheek, and washboard abs, and -  _ god _ , what  _ is _ that stupid cologne that Nurse always wears? It smells like forests in the summer and reminds Dex of a home he didn’t know existed.

But nothing compares to the gentle curling of Nurse’s fingers in Dex’s hair, or the warm breath that tickles his lips. His lungs burn, and he pulls away.

_ Slam _ .

“Shit,” says Dex, rubbing the back of his head where it had connected with the pool table. Beneath him, Nursey is laughing his ass off. Dex is about to tell him to shut the fuck up when Nursey’s fingers find the sensitive spot on the back of his head.

“You’re gonna have a nasty bump there,” he says.

“Just add it to the list of bruises you’ve given me over the years,” says Dex. 

“Don’t play innocent, we both know I’m not always the one to hit first.”

Dex groans, rubbing his eyes. “This isn’t how I pictured it,” he says. The hand in his hair drops to his neck.

“Us making out? What, your fantasies never involved the underside of a ping pong table?” Nursey’s eyes shine a cool gray, and his lips turn up in a small smirk. God, those lips give Dex heart palpitations.

“Well,” he said, “I always thought it would be me. You. Probably hockey. But  _ poetry _ ? Absolutely not.”

Nursey drops his hand to Dex’s hips.

“Hey,” he says, “two out of three ain’t bad.”

Dex leans down, and Nursey meets him for a kiss. The kiss languidly, surrounded by a cool darkness. Dex feels like he’s fifteen again, and his parents are driving him into upstate New York on their yearly visit to his grandparent’s. They’re between destinations, and the only job Dex has right now is to relax, listening to the steady purr of the car engine and watch the city lights pass by. When he and Nursey kiss, he loses himself.

Nursey must lose himself, too, because neither of them notice the thudding down the basement steps.

“Nursey? Dex?” 

They both jolt forwards.

Chowder’s face pops into view. His eyebrows scrunch up.

“Guys? What are you doing underneath the table? And why are you redder than usual?”

For the first time in his entire life, Dex prays that he fucked up somewhere, and that the entire table collapses on the both of them. 

Nursey drops turns his head, looking at Chowder.

“We’re just chillin’, bro,” he says, and  _ god, _ he isn’t even  _ panting. _ Dex wants to fix that.

He hears maniacal laughter. A hand wraps around Chowder’s arm, pulling him out of view.

“Come on, Chris,” and that is definitely Farmer’s voice, “let’s go bug Holster. Maybe we can catch the newest episode of  _ Silicon Valley. _ ”

“Aw, yes!”

Farmer’s sneakers enter into view, and she crouches. 

“Bye guys,” she says, waving, “stay safe!” 

Dex gives her a tight smile, watching her pink sneakers pad away. As soon as he hears the slamming of the basement door, he drops his head, burying his face in Nursey’s shoulder. 

“Oh my god,” he says. “They think we were having sex down here. In the basement.”

Nurse shrugs. “I mean, we -”

“Don’t you fucking say it, Nurse.”

“We could head back to my dorm,” Nurse finishes, and he raises a single goddamn eyebrow. Jesus, it’s two o’clock, and Dex is completely strung. On a  _ Tuesday _ .

Dex scrambles to get off him, crawling out from underneath the table. He stands, brushing nonexistent dust off of his pants. 

“Maybe we could wait until after dinner?” he suggests, his face burning. 

“Fine by me,” says Nurse. “I’ll stop by your place at six?”

“Yup,” says Dex. He immediately grimaces. “Sounds like a plan.”

“See you then.”

Dex’s heart is pounding in his ears, and his mouth tastes like copper. He could probably fry an egg on his face.

They both motion to leave, but something goes terribly wrong and they end up kissing again. But this one’s quicker, final, but it’s more like the sealing of a contract.

They pass through the house. Dex throws a glance at the heap that is Chowder, Farmer and Holster on the couch.

He and Nursey walk to the front door.

“I’m gonna stay here for a bit,” he says. Nursey nods, and he pulls the door shut behind him.

Dex resists the urge to stare out the window after him. Instead, he pops his head into the kitchen.

“Bits?” he asks, “do you know where Lardo is? I need to see if she has any old copies of  _ Vision _ .”

Dex has a date later, and he needs to catch up on his poetry.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! kudos are a pat on the back, comments are life-changing hugs!! come follow me on [tumblr](http://www.pointyderek.tumblr.com/). i'm always taking prompts :D


End file.
